


Rain on Steel

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Self-Esteem, Turtle Tots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 23:30:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4498878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the ABC Turtle Tot contest on DA hosted by RachelErica. I had the letter 'o' - given the word 'odor' to work with.</p><p>Some little Raphie and Splinter quality bonding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain on Steel

Mikey shook his fists together, loosely cupping the dice. He flung the cubes down, leaned forward to see his result.

“Five and three,” he noted. “Seven!”

“Eight,” Donnie corrected, voice slightly muffled from his cheek being propped by one hand. He flipped the page of the book he was reading between turns.

Leonardo watched as Mikey counted his spaces, moving the chess pawn across the roughly drawn boxes, each colored a different hue with crayon and marker. His lips moved as he counted and with a tiny nod of his head, silently urged his brother to move one move space to complete his counting correctly.

Mikey followed Leo’s prompting and sat his piece down, only to pick it up again and see what was under it. “Oh snap! I gotta be in the dungeon for two rounds! No way!”

Leo shook his head. “You’re the one who made up this game.” He carefully rolled the dice and lifted his blue button from a square with bars.

“No, no, no, Leo. If you don’t get an even number, then you can’t defeat the monster that put you in his prison to begin with.”

“But six _is_ an even number.”

“I mean doubles.”

Donnie groaned. “You keep changing the rules. This game is illogical!”

A great sigh was heaved from next to them as Raph plopped down between Donnie and Mikey. Raph’s leg shoved the book and bumped the board, shifting all the pieces. Several piles of unevenly cut squares of paper toppled. Mikey gasped.

“What are you lame-o’s doin’,” he asked, eying the creased cardboard.

“Oh no! You’re messing up my treasures!” Mikey stooped over his bent knees and tried to tap the squares of paper back into neat stacks with the palms of his hands.

Donatello pulled his book to one side, closed it and set it between him and Leonardo. Frowning, he sniffed and wrinkled his snout. “Do you smell something?”

Leo and Don exchanged glances. “Not really.”

“No, wait. I do. It’s like . . . berries.”

Raph looked up sharply.

Mikey shook his head then straightened up. He blinked rapidly and sniffed.

“Hey. What is that? Ew.”

Raph suddenly stood up. “You guys are lame.” He stormed off leaving his brothers sniffing quizzically in the air.

# # #

The next morning, Splinter laid out four bowls of cereal. “My sons, gather for breakfast.” When he received no answer, he followed the sweet sounds of their childish voices to the center of the living room where there was a large cardboard game set up. Three of his children were deeply immersed in conversation.

“If you want to get to the tower of promises, you gotta cross the troll bridge. And to get past, you gotta defeat the troll.”

“But, Mikey, I did. I beat the ogre at the pass, here, and then I get to cross the bridge. See?”

“No, but first you have to fight the troll.”

Donatello huffed, “Wait a minute. When I went around that part, you didn’t have a troll appear. Why does Leo get the extra experience points?”

“The troll was asleep when you went by that time.”

“That makes no sense!”

“My sons,” Splinter interrupted and three rounded faces peered up in surprise. “It is time for breakfast.”

As the boys gathered, Splinter called for Raphael. He appeared from his room, and hurried to the table.

“Oh boy, I’m so hungry I could eat . . . I could eat a whole lion!”

Mikey laughed.

“The lion would devour you on sight,” Donatello commented around a mouth full of cereal.

Raph sat between Mikey and Donnie. He picked up his spoon and began shoveling cereal into his mouth. Crunching loudly he shook his head, “I’d kill ‘em fast and eat him up before he knew it.”

Donatello raised his brows. “The lion has a keen sense of smell, Raphie. You’d have to make sure you were down-wind if you stood any chance of sneaking up on him. Otherwise,” he shrugged and shook his head sadly, “you’d be done for.”

Leo considered this and gave a nod of agreement and continued to eat.

Raph was using his spoon to emphasize his point. “Nu-uh. Don’t need to. I’m too quick.”

Donnie straightened up with a scowl as a fleck of milk hit his nose. “Hey!” He smacked at Raph’s hand and then wrinkled up his nose as he wiped at it. “Ew!”

“What?”

Mikey and Leo looked up.

“There it is again!”

Raph shifted in his seat and went back to eating, ignoring his brothers as they exchanged glances.

“What, Donnie?”

“That smell!”

Mikey sniffed about. “Hey, yeah. There it is! Like candy.”

Donatello leaned forward in his chair. “No. Not candy. But it is a sort of sweet smell. Like, maybe rotten candy.”

“It’s gross.” Mikey squeaked and covered his nose. “Really gross!”

Donnie jerked, then got closer to Raph. He sniffed and Raph squirmed in his seat. “Stop it. I’m tryin’ ta eat.”

“Ew! Raphie, it’s you!”

Mikey’s face split into a huge grin. He leaned forward and sniffed at his brother from the other side. He jumped back in his seat and cried, “It is you!”

“Shut up!”

“Raphie is stinky! Raphie is stinky!” Michelangelo immediately began to chant in a sing-song voice.

Furious, Raph pushed back from the table. “You guys stink! Not me!” He jumped and ran from the room.

Splinter cleared his throat as he entered the room. “What is all this?”

Donatello and Michelangelo’s giggling stopped. Leo said with a shrug, “Raphie smells weird.”

“Really stinky,” Mikey quipped, then pressed his mouth tightly closed at his father’s expression.

“Oh?” Splinter asked with a stern look.

Leo swallowed and sat a little lower in his seat. He cast a quick glance to his brothers who each squirmed with guilty expressions.

“Finish your breakfast. Michelangelo, you have dishes duty, you understand?”

“Hai, Sensei,” he replied morosely, head ducking.

With that, Splinter went off to find his temperamental child. Splinter paused at his boy’s door, then peered around the corner of the door.

Inside his room, Raph sat on the edge of his bed. One toe prodded at the corner of the tattered rug.

Splinter entered and Raph blinked up at him; his expression a mixture of pout and mope. “Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“My son,” he said as he took a step closer, then paused.

His whiskers quivered and he tipped his head slightly to one side, nose twitching. There came a distinctive waft of strawberries directly from his son. A bemused frown plucked at his brows as he resumed his approach and sat next to Raphael. The odor became stronger.

“I could not help but overhear your brothers’ remarks.”

Raph looked up quickly. His pout deepened. “I didn’t do nothin’. They were bein’ mean. They said that I – that I –“

Splinter raised his brows. Waited.

Raph ducked his head and began cracking his knuckles. Splinter rested one hand upon his child’s, making the nervous gesture cease.

“I just –“

Splinter’s amber eyes trailed from the side of his boy’s face to the wall beyond, they fell to the floor where a small bundle of hand towels partially covered the bottom half of a bottle. The bottle had a pink cap. Understanding dawned. Splinter gave Raphael’s hand a squeeze.

He moved to stand and crouched next to Raph. His son made a soft sound of protest, but fell silent as Splinter reached for the half-hidden bottle. He sat back and cradled it on his lap, kneeling in front of his boy. On the label was a bunch of strawberries. Even through the plastic, Splinter could detect the cloying scent.

Raph gave it a sidelong stare, cheeks darkening. “I-I found that a few days ago.”

Splinter said nothing, allowing his son to explain, although understanding fully what was going on.

Raphael’s voice rose and cracked, “I just wanted to use a little!” He shrugged, eyes bright. “Too much came out.” He went on, breath catching as his chest began to heave, “I just didn’t want . . . to smell bad anymore.” He wiped roughly at one cheek, eyes growing huge and glassy.

Splinter set the bottle to one side. He moved to sit next to his son. Carefully, he draped one arm around his boy’s shoulders, wide for his age, one day they’d be the frame of a thick muscled physique but for now, still just a child’s.

“You know,” Splinter started, ignoring the trembling effort of his son not to cry, “a rat’s sense of smell is one of the strongest of all creatures on the planet. My nose is even more sensitive than you or your brothers’. In fact, each of you have your own unique aroma. I can tell if it is you or Leonardo or Michelangelo or Donatello who enter my room, even with my eyes closed.”

Raphael sniffed and took in a shuddering breath. “’Cuz I stink, right?” he mumbled.

“I have yet to note anything wrong with your natural essence. In fact, I rather enjoy your scent.”

Raph frowned. He looked up, nose crinkling. “That’s weird, Master Splinter.”

Splinter chuckled. “Perhaps.” He squeezed Raph and rocked back. “But is it so strange to enjoy the scent of rain upon steel? It is an aroma of determination, of strength. It is a good smell. It fills me with courage and stamina.”

Raphael sat in stunned silence. After a beat, he asked quietly, “I smell . . . like that?”

Splinter gave a sharp nod. “Yes.”

Raph looked out into his room with wonder.

Splinter hefted the bottle in his hand. “Of course, if you prefer to smell of strawberries, there is nothing wrong in that. But I would caution moderation in its application going forward.” He handed the bottle to his boy who took it in both hands.

Splinter rose and moved to the door. A loud noise brought his surprised gaze over his shoulder.

Raphael stood over the trash can in his room, empty hands on his hips. He looked up at his father. “How long will it be before I smell like myself again?”

Splinter smiled. “A few more bath-times should do it.”

“Can I have a bath now?”

“Certainly, my son.”

Raphael rushed from the room. As he did, Splinter cast a quick glance into the trash bin. Sure enough, the bottle of strawberry-scented body wash sat at the bottom. He picked up the can and removed it from his boy’s room, not wanting the offending stink to permeate his son’s space any longer than need be.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
